


For The First Time

by CursedCursingViking



Category: British Actor RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, The Night Manager (TV), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fluff, Inspired by Fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 20:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursedCursingViking/pseuds/CursedCursingViking
Summary: A two-part one-shot about Lauren Pine following her second wedding. A trip to New York with Chuck, and repeated defiance of an old rule.This is a fanfiction of the fanfiction "The Reluctant Bride" by Caffiend.





	1. Part One: In Six Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caffiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Reluctant Bride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843938) by [Caffiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend). 

> So, my cello teacher, unfortunately, had to cancel today’s lesson, and what did I do instead? Sit down and practice my instrument? No. I wrote a “The Reluctant Bride”-fanfic, because I have no self-control, apparently. 
> 
> Just like EmeraldRoseQuartz did in her fantastic crossover fanfic-of-another-fanfic that is “Boxed Wine”, I am calling this a love letter to Caffiend. If anyone in my audience doesn’t already know of her (which I doubt, as she is a legend), I highly encourage you to go and check her out! And of course, go and check out Emmie and her stories as well! 
> 
> Links:  
Caffiend  
EmeraldRoseQuartz

The lovely soft tunes of “Ave Maria” filled Lauren’s conservatory on the upper floor of the house, which had seen such a change of pace in the last few weeks. It was the house the couple had come home to on their wedding day - both wedding days, the ever-cynical part of Lauren’s brain interrupted her - full of joy, and the house they left twelve hours later full of worry, when the doors to the panic room finally opened, and Thomas’ wounded body was carried away by the professionals. The house where Lauren had sat on the stairs in the foyer for hours in the dark instead of sleeping, despite Chuck’s endless efforts to convince her to rest, just waiting for the call saying that her husband was stable enough to be moved from the ER, and be visited. Or the call saying that he had - Lauren interrupted the horrible part of her mind before it could finish the thought. - The house that had been turned in to an at-home-clinic where Thomas had stoically tried to keep working as if he hadn’t been literally shot in the chest by an assassin hired by his father in law, mere days earlier. 

Speaking off tough family relations, that very same father in law’s funeral needed attending to, which Thomas truly didn’t think it deserved. Though, under the technically true pretence of being busy with the power shift in the corporation, he and Lauren skipped out on the closed-casket ceremony. But a few weeks later, things were back to “normal”, and the urn was waiting for someone to do the honours of burying it. 

Lauren sat quietly under Chuck's protective gaze for the entire eight-hour flight, as her stomach filled with knots she truly wished she didn’t care about. It had been her idea when the letter came, to just go in the middle of the week and get it over with, much to Thomas’ worry. He had kissed her goodbye the morning she left, and wandered around the house aimlessly until he remembered the time and had to rush to yet another management meeting. Though he knew Chuck was more than capable of taking care of his wife, he worried. 

But all went well, as Lauren and her bodyguard picked up the urn from the columbarium by the small church and cemetery in New York, where Aurelia’s casket had been lowered into the ground a few years before. They sat in the back of the church during the reading, quiet, as not to disturb any regular church-goers. Lauren’s white hands were startlingly pale against the dark urn and black skirt she wore, and Chuck could tell her mind was not at the words of the priest, but on the ceramic she held. Though he couldn’t read her mind, he could recognise the look on her face. Her tense jaw and distant eyes were akin to the expression she had when she paced the living room in deep thoughts. 

She didn’t even look up when the postlude ended and Chuck guided her out of the church to the potter’s field where, as per Lauren’s request, the gravedigger had prepared an anonymous grave for the late, selfish narcissist Mr Marsh to “rest”, without ever again disturbing his daughter or wife, when the young woman came to visit her mother. 

They spent the better half of the day sitting on a bench by Aurelia’s grave. Lauren’s tired head came to rest on Chuck’s shoulder, when she, after a long time’s silence, spoke. “Are you my dad now?” Immediately she regretted asking, it sounded so stupid and childish! 

But Chuck was quick to calm her. “You have been like my daughter for a long time.” 

“Probably longer than he ever felt I was to him,” she mumbled cynically at the memory of the single birthday party where she had felt like she had a real dad. “I miss mom.” There were tears in her eyes that washed the cynicism away. 

“Of course,” Chuck comforted with a hand around Lauren, who looked up cautiously and hoped she didn’t go too far with her question. 

“Do you miss… them?” Lauren felt bad for barely knowing who “they” were, but Chucks eyes were full of acceptance as he nodded slowly, and turned his head back to stare blankly at the beautiful stone on Aurelia’s grave. 

“Of course.” His voice was just slightly wavering, but compared to how composed he usually was, the unnoticeable vibrations felt like earthquakes to both him and Lauren. His voice was steady again as he continued. “The corporation takes. I have known that for a long time. And so has Thomas,” he added. “But none of us had any idea of how much it could give, until it gave us you.” His eyes were back on Lauren, whose purple irises were covered in tears. Pity and guilt filled his eyes - he hated to see Lauren cry as much as the next man - so he took her in his arms when the tears started falling, and comforted her, like parent and child, for the first time for both of them in six years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research on Lauren’s age. She said in chapter two, that her mother died from cancer “five years ago”. In chapter five, it is said that she picked out the casket when she was 18. So Lauren was 23 when she married Thomas(the first time) and 24 when she married him again, which is when my one shot here takes place. I don’t remember ever reading anything on Chuck’s age or that of his daughters’ or wife, nor the years, dates or reasons of their deaths, so all my mentions thereof are my personal headcanons.


	2. Part Two: In Six Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lauren is home from New York, Thomas comes home from Denmark

Before Lauren and Chuck returned home from their father-daughter-trip to New York, Thomas had left their London home to do business with the Scandinavian Rattlesnake, as Lauren had decided to call Martinsson when no one else could hear. So the house was strangely empty as she ascended to her conservatory and began the ritual-esque routine of preparing to practice. Opening her new cello case, with her old and faithful instrument inside, she took out her bow and tightened it carefully. Meticulously, she brushed it over her block of rosin, back and forth until the hairs were sufficiently covered. She put it down, and set up her notes, before finally picking up her gorgeous instrument. 

For the first time in what felt like months, she sat down, placed the endpin in the aptly named floor-protector, and drew in the back of the instrument until it hit her sternum, while spreading her legs to make room for the body of her cello, when the hem of her skirt stopped her. 

Looking down in what felt like comical disbelief, Lauren stared at the offending garment. How could she have forgotten how much she hated playing while wearing dresses or skirts? How long had it been since she practised last? Broken out of her meditative state of mind, her annoyance got to her head. This was bullshit! One thing was performing pieces she had practised for months in a concert gown, but taking a first look at new sheets and melodies in a constricting knee-length skirt was too much to ask! 

In an act of defiance against the skirt she wore, and as a reminder for Thomas, who she was sure would somehow know she broke a rule, of how much she missed her pants, she went downstairs to change. 

Rummaging through the back of her closet, she finally found a bag containing the clothes she had half expected Thomas would have burned. But here they were, her good, old pants. She pulled out the pair of jeans laying on top and tried them on to see if they still fit - which they did, like a charm. With a pair of white tennis shoes, some artsy socks and a tucked graphic tee, the outfit would have been completed, but her lonesome mom-jeans were out of place under the expensively tailored blouse her marriage to the Number 2, and now 1, of Jaguar Holdings had brought her. She honest to god looked like a mom. One who was elegant from her expensive blouse to her french hair-do, but nothing but business from her deep-pocketed jeans to her comfy Birkenstocks. 

Slightly frightened, she rushed back to the bag and found a pastel teeshirt and some joke-socks she had bought for a dollar at a thrift store with Macie. Pulling her hair from the trophy wife knot and making a ponytail instead, she looked like how she used to 2 years ago. The look that had made her father encourage her to "Smarten up! Better makeup and a decent wardrobe, and there would be no one to compare with you!" Incidentally, it was also the look that had made every greasy catcaller from Manhattan Valley to the Lincoln Square whistle after her like they were auditioning to play the western concert flute in the NYC Marching band. 

She looked like an art student, and the weird feeling of being 2 years younger filled her with relief and energy, so when she went back up to practice, she had almost forgotten the circus her life had been in the last 12 months. 

She sat down and began tuning her cello, feeling the vibrations from the strings move through the body of the instrument, and once her loose A, D, G and C were in perfect harmony, she began playing. 

Meanwhile, Thomas had finished the last of his Copenhagen meetings. Arabella already looked happier and healthier - even younger - after just six weeks away from her ex-husband, and Thomas knew that plastic surgery, for once, hadn’t been involved. She looked contempt and like she fitted in among the tall and blonde Scandinavians. Despite his joy from seeing both her and Clara ridden of their former husbands, he excused himself from taking part in the celebratory after-meetings lunch at Noma. The joy felt incomplete without his Lauren at his side. 

So two hours later, he landed in London and did his best not to exceed the speed limit on his way home to Lauren. 

She was still upstairs, playing through “Ave Maria” for the hundredths time. The piece was not particularly difficult, but the tune was so soft and comforting, she couldn’t stop listening to herself play. 

Thomas followed the sweet sounds up to Lauren, where he stopped in the door. She looked… different. Like the day they met in his office. Young, energetic, and most of all painfully sweet and naive. Her ponytail and her girl-like shoes were spot on for the girl he had met back then. And yet, there was a strange maturity about her. One her upbringing had brought upon her, and one he had so strictly reinforced from day one. Day one, where he had spanked the worlds most unhappy and unlucky girl in his kitchen for the simple offence of talking back and wearing… jeans. 

She was wearing. Jeans. 

“After that morning in the kitchen, I thought you would never dare to touch denim again,” he mused, making her finally notice him.

She looked up and immediately put her instrument away, before going over to greet him. As she hugged him, she tried her best to explain to him how annoying it was to play the cello in a dress, but Thomas just chuckled. He wasn’t mad, how could he be? 

“Come downstairs and have tea with me, will you? I went by the bakery and brought home some scones,” he offered, and she accepted, slipping past him to make her way downstairs to the sweets. As she walked in front of him, Thomas realised he truly shouldn’t be mad. That he truly couldn’t. Because that view. He was rudely staring at her plump ass as she walked, and at the sweet curve of her hips to her waist. Was it always that small? Or was it just a trick of the pants cinching her in and creating contrast with the baggy tee? Either way, it drove him wild. And her ass. When she turned 90 degrees to walk down the stairs, he could actually see the whole outline of her cheeks. It was as if the denim was lifting them up higher, and it fit so snugly, he could make out the whole shape, where a dress would have hidden her gorgeous form from the biggest point down. Of course, there was a charm to dresses leaving a lot for the imagination to fill in on its own, but not even in his dreams could her legs be any longer than what her pants very clearly let him know they were. 

He was completely absent and barely answered, as Laure put the kettle on and began asking about his days in Denmark. He finally managed to pry his focus from the garment he hated so much, but was weirdly starting to grow on him. 

“How was New York?” he asked and put the scones on a plate. 

“It was fine. It was nice to close the chapter. To put him away.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” His eyes were sincere. 

“Actually,” Lauren had a sly smile on her lips, hiding a deeper fondness, “I’m glad it was just me and Chuck.” 

Thomas chuckled and nuzzled his face into her hair, whispering in her ear. “Naughty girl, running away without me.” 

“I would never,” she assured him with a small kiss. 

Thomas took the plate of scones and put it on the table, as Lauren poured the boiling water in the teapot. When she turned to go put it on the table with the buns, she saw Thomas had pulled out _that_ chair to the middle of the room. Should she just have bitten the sour apple, followed the rules, and worn her skirt? 

“Come here, Lauren,” he beckoned and sat down, while Lauren swallowed a knot and accepted her fate. 

“Yes, Thomas.” The reply was smoother than it had been the first time, and this time she didn’t fear her punishment as much. As much as she hated disappointing Thomas, she didn’t fear his anger anymore and actually found some excitement in being over his knee. Though, she knew it was a punishment, and Thomas would make sure she disliked it more than she enjoyed it. 

He was patient as she came to stand before him, and he pulled her in to stand between his spread legs. Lauren looked down and awaited the lecture and scolding to come, when Thomas’ big hands smacked her ass playfully and grabbed a handful of soft flesh each. She stared at him in shock, as the most devilish smile she had ever seen, split across his handsome face, up to his eyes, in which he had the cobalt blue gaze she knew meant one thing, and one thing only: sex.


End file.
